


A Gathered Cloak

by Elisif



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cloak-Snuggling, F/F, extreme fluffiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisif/pseuds/Elisif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lalwen and a friend become lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gathered Cloak

Lalwen paused to blow a soft kiss over her thumb at the two figures nestled together in the piled furs of the bed, asleep with their thumbs nestled in respective mouths, before bolting the door of the chamber and stepping outwards in to the smoky Hall, heady with the scents of dripping sap from new cut pine and thick with smoke from the hearth.  
Concealed as it was behind a row of screened-off beds, the far corner the children’s bedchamber adjoined onto was a crowded one, the narrow pathways between the packed beds lined with all the relics of self-sufficient life on Mithrim’s shore as they had built for themselves: spindles and distaffs, baskets of wool, children’s shoes. It was in the act of tactfully lifting her skirts to step over a stray kitten that darted from under a bed that Lalwen felt herself crashing headlong into Elenniel. The Sindar girl had been carrying an armful of new-rushlights, and the long, greasy candles spilled from her arms and proceeded to roll beneath the adjoining beds.  
“I am so sorry, Elenniel,” Lalwen said as they both knelt down in the rushes to gather up the scattered lights.  
“It is no trouble,” she said quietly, with a half-smile, for as she reached for the final rushlight, Elenniel found that the guilty kitten had developed an interest in the stick of reed and muttonfat and was tentatively lifting a paw on and off of the wick ending.  
“That’s mine, I’m afraid,” she said; the kitten stiffened and darted back beneath the bed as Elenniel stood and adjusted the bundle in her arms; Lalwen rose before her, rested an arm against an adjoining bedpost, pausing. The light from a ceiling-hung lantern was close enough to just illuminate Elenniel’s features, sending a shadow just beneath her delicate lashes, soft brown eyes.  
“Lalwen, have you—where is my sister?”  
She smiled.  
“Asleep. I put her to bed with my grand-niece, if you do not mind.”  
The “if you do not mind” was a mere formality; sharing beds warmed them all the more, and anything that warmed a child was beyond any questioning in Lalwen’s eyes. Still, Elenniel had proved herself to be— unsurprisingly, given what had brought her about her arrival in their camp—a deeply protective elder sister, and Lalwen was relieved by her subsequent smile, despite the tinge of pain that accompanied it when she said:  
“It is good for her, to have a friend who understands how she is feeling about losing our – and for your Itarillë, too, I suppose. I must thank your family for your kindness towards her.”  
“Galineth is a child,” Lalwen said simply. “We would do no less for any of her years— Elenniel, are you alright?”  
Elenniel blinked, lashes flickering over wide, owlish eyes in the weak lantern-light.  
“Yes, I suppose. I am just tired.”  
Lalwen laid her hand on Elenniel’s sable- fur-trimmed sleeve—the dress, a fine green silk, had been hers once, given as a gift to the refugee leaderess who had arrived with nothing save her surviving people and a small, inlaid drinking horn which Lalwen could see still hung from a fine copper chain on her belt.  
“Would you like to come and rest in my chamber then, Elenniel?”  
A smile crossed her eyes.  
“I would like that very much,” she said.  
Elenniel followed her across the hall: they left the women’s sleeping quarters, letting down their skirts when the piles of working tools and children’s toys on the floor became a thin layer of pine branches and sawdust, edged their way around the lengthy trestle tables and benches that cut the Great Hall down the middle to reach the small door set just to the side of the main fireplace.  
Lalwen’s bedchamber— such an immeasurable luxury, having her own, even only a few months ago, but her brother had utterly insisted upon it— was sparse, like the hall edged with the rough-cut scents of new-cut pine and hearth-smoke. There were fresh-smelling fir branches strewn across the floor in the Sindar manner, wolfskins piled upon the bed, a small fire in the grate and two low chairs set before it, a misted window looking out upon the cold lakeshore; the only concession to luxury was a small gilded cup, the silver tarnished in patches, holding a bundle of foxgloves that had half-wilted to droop over the wall adjoining the sill, the brightness of the purple jarring against the greys of the pine.  
Elenniel paused in the doorway, hand against the frame; Lalwen rubbed her palms together, then adjusted her vast cloak about her shoulders and moved to push the two chairs up against each other and motion for Elenniel to sit down. Elenniel tentatively followed her and sat down on, her hands clasped in her lap. When Lalwen saw her shiver, she reached over and swept her cloak around her and her chair so it wrapped tight around both of them, Elenniel’s head resting against her shoulder, their hands meeting against Lalwen’s thigh.  
After a moment’s peace, content to feel Elenniel’s breath against her neck and warmth in her arms as the wind howled beyond the walls and the fire crackled, Lalwen felt her squirm; it took her a moment to notice Elenniel was reaching to unlatch the miniature drinking-horn chained at her hip. Having loosened the chain, she let the inlaid horn, carved white save for edging of gold-leaf at the tip and brim, lie flat across her palms in her lap, stared down at it.  
Finally, she said:  
“Silly, isn’t it? If this were a song, I’d have saved a jewel from my burning home, a magic spell on a parchment hidden in a secret compartment, something like that. But as it happened, I had a flask of wine in my hands when the fire began, so that’s what I have left.”  
She unscrewed the stopper, held the horn to her lips, took a long drink. Brushing her upper lip with the back of her hand, she passed the horn to Lalwen.  
Lalwen took a long sip, and a most peculiar expression crossed her face.  
Elenniel laughed as she took it back; Lalwen’s other hand was pressed back against her mouth.  
“You’ve never had Gorse Wine before?”  
Lalwen grimaced, leaning forwards.  
“I can’t say I have. It tastes almost like coconut.”  
Elenniel paused, laughing, the horn at her lips.  
“What on earth is coconut?” she asked.  
There was a pause, both of them staring into each other’s eyes in amicable disbelief, before they both burst out laughing.  
Lalwen’s cloak was suddenly immensely hot, the ermine burning against her skin; she sought to roughly tug it free from under her, but unfortunately, she had forgotten the complexity with which it enshrined not only them but the low chairs they sat upon, and in the process, she sent Elenniel toppling over backwards with a an unladylike squeak. Lalwen followed a second later, tumbling over onto the floor on her side as Elenniel grabbed a fistful of the cloak for support and ensnared her.  
For a moment, she lay breathless on her side on the hard floorboards, half-laughing and gasping in shock.  
“Elenniel—“ she gasped as she rolled over, pulled herself up onto her elbows to see if Elenniel, lying flat on her back beside her, was alright.  
Positioned over her, she laid a hand in Elenniel’s curls, touched the edge of her cheek.  
“Are you alright?” she asked.  
“I am fine,” Elenniel said, and swept Lalwen into a soft kiss, spread fingers loosening and unfurling her braids as they reached into her hair around to caress the back of her neck, the taste of wine still on her lips as they kissed Lalwen’s, sought the soft, powdered edges of her cheeks.  
Lalwen kissed her back; when Elenniel sat up she wrapped her arms around her, beheld her embraced in her arms for a moment, the fur cloak pulled over to just above her breasts.  
“I think,” Elenniel said, breathlessly, “we’re going to need more wine tonight.”  
“There was another flagon on the table, just outside,” she said. Then, her eyes, glinting: “And yes, never fear, it was Elderberry. To suit your strange foreign tastes, Lalwendë.”  
Lalwen wound a strand of Elenniel’s hair around her finger, then looked up to meet her eyes.  
“Later?” she asked.  
“Later,” Elenniel agreed, and reached over for another kiss.


End file.
